


Midlittoral Zone

by reytheghost



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre-Relationship, or maybe more like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 18:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20247511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reytheghost/pseuds/reytheghost
Summary: "August is ending, and for the better part of the month, it has been raining as if the world were coming to an end. The asphalt of the road in front of him is dark and the sky above his head is grey, packed with clouds and more clouds, forming a drapery over this town.An endless ceiling, Remus thinks. His shoulder is touching Sirius'. The tiles of the pavement are uncomfortable to sit on and there's something about it that makes his back hurt even more, though he tries not to think of why it hurt in the first place, and the whole world looks indescribably bleak, but still – there's nowhere else he'd really want to be."Summer 1977. Remus Lupin and Sirius Black.





	Midlittoral Zone

August is ending, and for the better part of the month, it has been raining as if the world were coming to an end. The asphalt of the road in front of him is dark and the sky above his head is grey, packed with clouds and more clouds, forming a drapery over this town.

_An endless ceiling_, Remus thinks. His shoulder is touching Sirius'. The tiles of the pavement are uncomfortable to sit on and there's something about it that makes his back hurt even more, though he tries not to think of why it hurt in the first place, and the whole world looks indescribably bleak, but still – there's nowhere else he'd really want to be. 

He lets his right arm slide down, accidentally or not, he doesn't know. When his fingers brush the bare skin of Sirius' left arm, Sirius doesn't react at all; he just keeps tapping his foot. Maybe because of that, or maybe it has more to do with his overall hyper-awareness of Sirius' presence, Remus makes the mistake to glance aside. It's nothing more than the barest movement of his eyes towards where Sirius is sitting next to him on the pavement, and he's fairly sure that anybody else wouldn't have noticed it. However, this is Sirius and, just like Remus, he always does.

After all these years, Remus still isn't sure why, despite having spent a significant time trying to come up with explanations and, when that didn't work, with descriptions and stupid metaphors he considered telling Sirius just to hear him laugh. _Is that what you’re doing when James and I are in detention? _He’d tell him that he’d just opened one of those books in James’ trunk that were – according to James, a not very trustworthy source in cases like this – Lily’s, and Sirius would send him a knowing look,_ Are you sure? Prove it_, after which Remus would send an enigmatic smile right back, never telling him the truth, because just this would be dangerously close to the line already. 

On some days he thinks it’s terrifying, while on most days, it merely thrills him and in the depths of his somewhat labile brain, he pictures something metaphysical that pulls them together from underneath their blood and bones, unexplainable by science and further than magic. Maybe he shouldn't only have his back checked by Madame Pomfrey, but also his head.

He looks away again. The damage has been done already.

Sirius stretches his legs, scraping the soles of his boots over the asphalt. "What are you doing, Moony. You've been acting weird ever since you arrived here.”

Remus pulls his legs up and rests his chin on top of his knees. "You think so?"

"Yeah, I _think so_," Sirius says pointedly. "You've been very quiet. Which is fine, but, you know. I thought being weird was my thing." 

Remus manages a small smile. "I thought that, too."

Sirius pokes him in his arm with his elbow. "Moony! I'm just trying to be nice here."

Remus pokes him back.  _ I know. _ "It wasn't an insult. And you said it first, you know."

Sirius' gaze on him is nearly tangible. Remus can almost hear him rolling his eyes before he asks, a bit urgently, "Are you okay though?"

Remus nods. "Yeah, of course," he says, not sure if it's the whole truth. But it matters a little bit less because Sirius _cares_. He sighs and averts his eyes towards the trees, the cars and the road below.

He and Sirius are sitting on a viaduct that Remus recalls from years ago, when one of James' neighbours had given them plums and they had played a game; the goal was to spit the pits on top of the trucks, double points if you hit a car or a motorcyclist.

Now, the road is mostly deserted, and it's so different from the hills of home, yet he suddenly realises he could learn to love it here. He could, even if he would have trouble getting used to the neighbours' proximity, the street lights shining through the curtains at night and –

"I hate it when we can't be with you during the full moon."

Remus looks aside, a bit taken by surprise.  _ Is he still worrying about that?  _ He meets Sirius' eyes that are vaguely reminiscent of the sky and notices that his jaw is clenched in discontentment; a common expression on Sirius' handsome face that always causes something to tug at Remus' stomach. He worries his bottom lip, thinking of something to say that doesn't sound utterly soppy or betrays his pathetic heart.

"I told you it was alright," Remus says kindly, which is only half a lie; it has been worse.

"You did," Sirius agrees, with a joyless laugh. And then, "I have – we've been thinking –"

"Oh?"

"– and these are the last summer holidays between two school years," he continues, "so if you come live with us next year, this was the last time you had to be alone. And locked up in your parents' basement." He sends Remus a sideways glance. "It makes sense."

"Oh?" Remus asks, genuinely this time. "With you?" It's not as if this idea comes out of nowhere; it's only that in Remus' head, it has never been more than a distant possibility, a few heedless remarks here and there.

Sirius shrugs. "And Prongs, if Evans hates him again by then. Peter, maybe." He smirks. "If you hadn't fallen asleep on James all at once yesterday, you would've known."

Remus nudges his elbow. "I didn't do that," he contradicts, aware that he is changing the subject rather transparently in a way that he has probably learned from Sirius.

Sirius leans his elbows on his knees and keeps quiet for a second. Remus keeps his eyes trained on his battered shoes, preparing himself for another comment about the moon, about next year or about yesterday, while he thinks of last year, when it was too warm to do anything else than just lying down. Remus recalls the bright light, the fields and James and Sirius' laughter in the distance. Everything was coloured with the promise of forever.

This summer, the ending feels nearby.

He looks at the trees and the few cars that provide the only sound on the road below; people on their way home or to visit a distant relative in a shitty town, all of them unnervingly unaware of the darkness behind their backs. A war is unfolding and they'll go on a holiday. Buildings will be set on fire, illuminating the darkest nights, and they'll tell their children not to worry, to just go sleep for it is just an accident. It won't happen again. Isn't there a saying,  _ History repeats itself _ ?

"It's going to rain,” Sirius remarks, bringing Remus back to the present.

Thankfully, Remus glances aside.

Sirius is looking at the clouds that are gathering in the sky. In doing so, his dark hair falls back. It exposes his throat, his jaw, his chin pointing up. His lips are curled up a little, in contempt, or maybe it's just thoughtfulness; an involuntary fight against something he'll say anyway. With his strong features, with his unreadable yet evoking demeanour, he could be an artist's model – for a rough sketch with undetermined lines, the gory details and dramatic lighting to be added later, because, usually, Sirius doesn't sit still for so long, always moving, chasing something, or just running away.

"I know," Remus replies. He's not sure how long it has taken them to walk from James' house to where they are now, but he doubts they'll make it back before it starts raining again. 

He untangles the sleeves of his coat from where they are tied around his waist. Technically it's his Mum's coat – she gave it to him when he left to visit the Potters plus Sirius and Peter almost two weeks ago in the pouring rain. He doesn't think he's ever seen her wearing it. Although it is too big for him – it only fits in length, and he's been taller than his mother since he was fourteen – it's comfortable like a shield or a large second skin.

It has lived longer than he has, longer than his mother has, maybe. He has never met his maternal grandfather who died aged fifty, but there's a black-and-white picture on his mother’s nightstand of two people, a beautiful woman whom he could have mistaken for her hadn't he known better and a man with a timid smile, and while Remus stood there in the hallway and zipped the coat, he imagined the man, a character in a silent movie, doing the same decades ago before leaving for work or a friend or a date. 

Boys from rich, ancient pure blood families receive expensive wrist watches that have belonged to their grandparents, have been glanced at during meetings of the Wizengamot if they’re lucky, or weird heirlooms that look like they belong to the darkest wizards out there and cursed letters from their cruel mother if they’re not. Remus stumbles upon old books in the attic and gets a third hand coat. He thinks it’s infinitely better.

"Do you think James and Peter will come back here?" he asks.

Sirius gives a slight shrug of the shoulder. _I don't know and I don't care._ At that, selfishly, stupidly, a warm feeling settles in Remus' chest.

Sirius averts his eyes, and his hair falls back into his face. He tugs at a strand. "Wouldn't surprise me if they've forgotten about us.” The corner of his mouth quirks up in a fond smile, softening his words. “They'll probably blow all James' money in the supermarket."

Remus snorts. "Probably. Then they'll eat until they don't feel like walking back anymore."

Sirius lets out a laugh, genuine and brilliant, a refreshing sound in the spiritless light.

Remus feels a smile creeping onto his own face too because of the familiarity that seemed to have been lost until this afternoon. It was almost as though it had been fading away due to the incessant fall of rain, cleaning up, and, who knows, wiping away everything unnecessary, all things dangerous and unpredictable. _But we're waterproof_, he thinks, and inwardly he laughs at how his cracked brain always seems to come up with new ways to convince him of his own stupidity. He should stop this, really. If he only knew how.

"But seriously," he says, looking at Sirius in his black T-shirt. "You don't even have a jacket with you."

Sirius flashes a grin. "Fortunately I'm not made of sugar."

"That's hardly the point."

"Are you worried, Moony?" Sirius stretches his arm, reaching for Remus' hair.

_Yes_, he thinks firmly, while he swats Sirius' hand away. Because despite Sirius' small fortune and the grey hairs Remus sporadically finds on his own clothes, the unsettling articles in the Prophet and the puzzling allusions of teachers to a great peril, they're only seventeen and none of them are invincible nor is life just a game called Let's Try And See What Happens. Most of the time Remus isn't sure what it is that is driving him exactly. He has some theories though. A few of them are simple, but most are ambiguous and intricate. 

He forces a wry smile that he feels doesn't reach his eyes, and in a voice that should have been jovial and careless he says, "Somebody has to do the thinking." But it's painfully clear that what he, in all his lovesick misery, truly means is  _ Yes, of course, you stupid idiot. I'm always worried about you and I always will be. _

Sirius lets out an incredulous laugh. "Only you would say something like that."

Remus shrugs, bites his lip.

Sirius is looking at him again, now with that intense stare that makes him feel as though Sirius is seeing right through every lie he's ever told, right through his exterior of well placed pieces bound together with Spello-tape. He is also dizzyingly aware that even though Sirius’ imprint is plastered to the tissue of his vital organs, he still can’t let Sirius behind his ribs. But there  _ has to be _ some way to put everything together in the same universe.

"We can go and look for them," Remus offers, his voice shaking a little. He ducks his head and picks at the nail of his forefinger.

Sirius tilts his head to the side, touching Remus' shoulder, contemplating. "I like sitting here," he says, and Remus is not sure if he imagines the abrupt silence, the _with you_ left unsaid. 

He contemplates giving his coat to Sirius, but knowing that he wouldn't take it anyway, he decides that it is better to not make a fool of himself, so he busies himself with putting it on, gently urging Sirius to move. Sirius shifts, then holds the side up for Remus to put his arm through the sleeve.

Their eyes meet again and again, the flashing of a stroboscope. Remus can feel the roughness of Sirius' finger pads on his sensitive skin. He wants Sirius to keep his hand there forever. Forever. Remus' pulse underneath Sirius' fingers. What if he just gave in?

"With you," Sirius says.

And he wonders if he could, if he will, and if it ever gets lonely if he won't. He reckons he can survive as long as Sirius will be there, with him, even it's just as a friend. His best friend. They can stay here for all eternity, in this tenuous in-between where nothing and everything is his, because honestly, he'll take whatever he can get. The easy affection of a hand low on his back, a playful arm around his shoulder. Mornings after the full moon and moments when Sirius wraps him in a blanket, or pulls his cloak tighter around him with trembling hands, and says with his eyes warm and sweet, that indistinct smile that's just for Remus, "There, Moony" and Remus murmurs, "Thanks" and Sirius says, "Always, always," with a laugh in his voice, softly so that no one else can hear it. It sounds like a promise of forever, of unbreakable and unconditionally.

Sirius' thumb slides towards his wrist, over the raised skin of a scar that has been caused by a Fanged Geranium in Herbology, fifth year; Sirius had made him laugh, absorbing all of his attention that should have been trained on the sharp toothed plant.

It's one of the many memories his twisted mind replays right before he falls asleep, next to Sirius, or in a bed that all at once feels both too small and too large, occasionally accompanied by a stream of possibilities – the possibility that Sirius remembers too, like how Remus can name most of Sirius' scars with his eyes closed, the birthmark on his left shoulder and the pattern of the veins on his right hand, which is a secret he'll take to the grave, because it is, admittedly, slightly creepy and also moderately unhealthy, his limitless devotion to his best friend. And somehow, it keeps increasing, increasing,  _ increasing. _

"Moony," Sirius says, his eyes still fixed on Remus' face, dragging the two syllables slowly over his lips as though he is testing the word he made up years ago.

He can feel his heart hammering in his chest and his breath hitches in his throat.

He licks his dry lips. "Padfoot." Ignoring the warning signs, he turns his wrist to touch the palm of his hand to Sirius' forearm where his skin is cool and unblemished. Sirius moves closer until Remus can see the faded scar next to his eye and feel his breath and the warmth of his body so close to his. In moments like this he can't stop himself from wondering what for god's sake it is that Sirius wants and if maybe, maybe – maybe it is him.

Sirius gives him that smile again.

Remus wouldn't mind if time froze, right now. A bubble around them, separating the two of them from the rest of the world.

He recognises this as one of those moments of before and after; before he met Sirius, after he met Sirius. Before Sirius became Padfoot, after Sirius became Padfoot. Before, after, before after. His presence on the other side of the room, the wall, the world. The beating of his heart against his hand, the touch of his fingers to his face. The sound of his voice.

"It's going to rain," Remus says. Before he can add anything else, the clouds burst.


End file.
